Stray Arrows
by Amillea Moravii
Summary: A collection of short drabbles about various characters. A Cupid has had one (okay, maybe three or four – or ten) too many drinks (well, we hope they were drinks...). When his arrows miss his intended targets, the repercussions are both frustrating and hilarious. T for mild language, mild sexual references, and crack. Currently taking requests.
1. Pillow Fight

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. All characters, themes, items, and context taken from the show belong to their respective owners.**

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******Chapter One: Pillow Fight**

Dean wasn't exactly sure when it was that he fell in love. He supposed it was a gradual thing, working up from a mild interest to an intense explosion of what he could only describe as burning passion. It was unexpected; he'd always considered himself a lady's man, able to pick up any woman with a cocky half-smirk and a wink of his intense green eyes.

Oh, God. Sam couldn't know. He'd never hear the end of it.

But it's not like he could hide it. The smouldering burn settling in the back of his stomach and the fuzziness about his brain was making it extremely difficult to think, let alone act natural around his frustratingly observant little brother.

He sat at a corner table in the diner, elbows on the table, chin in his hands, staring off into space until his brother's hand waving in front of his face brought him back down to reality.

"… on Earth is running through your head, Dean?" Sammy scolded. His hands switched back and forth between flipping expertly through the pile of papers in front of him and typing away madly on his laptop.

"What?" Dean asked, still a little distant.

"What are you thinking about? I haven't seen you this distracted in… I don't even know how long. It's like something just came down and kidnapped your brain. Are you even listening to what I'm saying right now?"

"Something about kidnapping? You thinking a demon?"

Sam sighed mightily. "You know what?" he snapped, gathering his papers into a pile and nearly slamming his laptop shut. "I think you need help. I don't know why, or what happened, but I've never seen you so… _out of it_. So." He folded his arms, put them on the table and leaned forwards. "Talk to me."

Dean clenched his jaw for a second, trying to decide what to say. He was going to have to come clean eventually. Sammy would figure it out – he wasn't the smart one for nothing. Damn college boy.

But he had to tell him carefully. He couldn't let this ruin his image; he had to remain the confident older brother, tough and rugged, complete chick-magnet, best-night-of-their-life in more way than one, able to take a beating and walk away with a grin, strong and-

"I think I'm in love," he blurted out.

Damn. There went his manliness.

His eyes flew wide as his hand shot to clamp down over his mouth, but the damage was already done. He could feel heat beginning to rise in his cheeks and bit down on his palm.

Sam laughed. He _laughed_. "Wow. I wasn't expecting that." A grin crept onto his face, and the damn bastard looked entirely too cheeky. "So, Dean, who's the lucky lady? The one who can supposedly tame my wild big brother, the one who stole his heart and-"

Dean's fist shot forwards and punched him in the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow," Sam protested, his smirk making the complaint totally invalid. "What the hell was that for?"

"Don't say that," Dean bit out. "Don't talk like that. You just – you don't understand."

Sam held his hands up, stuck his chin out and tilted his head in a gesture that said "_Hey, man, I don't believe a word you're telling me, but whatever you say_."

Dean groaned; this was _not_ how it was supposed to happen. Sam was supposed to be _happy_ for him. Instead, the entire situation had blown back in his face.

There was a few seconds of silence before Sam took a deep breath, tried to control his grin, and asked, "So, wh-what's her name?"

And Dean got that dreamy look about him again.

Sam coughed. Dean sunk low the table. Sam glanced around. Dean closed his eyes.

And without any warning, Dean leapt to his feet with a huge, excited grin and grabbed Sam by the wrist. With a startled exclamation, Sam held back long enough to grab his things before Dean lead him out of the diner, bouncing around like a child going on his first date.

"Come on, come on!" he whined, practically sprinting to the Impala and piling inside.

You could imagine Sam's surprise when Dean drove them straight to their motel.

"Dude."

"What?" Dean asked.

"She's here?"

Dean seemed extremely puzzled – his brow furrowed and he squinted, and for a moment Sam could almost liken him to Cas when the angel misunderstood a reference. "She's been here for days, Sam."

Sam was a little ashamed about how much like a yelp his next "_What?_" resembled.

Dean just grinned wider, beckoned him forwards and sat him down inside. When his older brother procured pillow from God-knows-where, Sam didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

"Dean."

"Yes?"

"It's a pillow."

The older Winchester seemed offended. "She's not _just_ a pillow, she's…" He struggled with words for a moment before finally settling on, "She's _special_."

And when Dean just smiled at the fluffy object, Sam decided to get pissed, but that didn't stop Dean from staring at the pillow like it was the love of his life and cuddling it close to him for the next few weeks when he slept.

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Up above, a hung over Cupid was taking a verbal lashing from his superiors as they groaned about the mess they had to clean up and whether they would even _try_ to reunite Dean with the woman he had accidentally knocked into in the street as she was leaving a home wares store.

_Nah_, they decided. They'd watch him love the pillow instead.

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**A/N: So this idea's been running around in my head since I saw My Bloody Valentine a few weeks ago. Crazy? I think it's crazy. And I like it.**

**So this is kinda gonna be like my Sherlock collection, I think. No set updates, just crazy ones when I think of them. I've got some ideas running around in my brain at the moment, so there might be a couple soon. Or not. Hopefully soon :)**

**But anyways. Read and enjoy, and stuff. And review. And follow. And things. Maybe?**

**You guys know I love you, right?**

**I hope you do.**

**So, 'till next time, m'dears :D VIRTUAL COOKIES FOR ALL!**


	2. Flower Power

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. All characters, themes, items, and context taken from the show belong to their respective owners.**

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**Chapter Two: Flower Power**

If you asked Crowley, King of Hell, about his thoughts on love, he'd tell you that it was a ridiculous weakness that humans possessed that could be used to manipulate them into deals and could be turned into their Achilles' heel. He, an all-powerful demon, would protest that he had any sort of sentimental attachments to… well, anything, really, and would laugh at you for being a preposterous waste of space before condemning you to pain and misery for the rest of your existence and beyond.

What he didn't tell anyone was that he was very much in love, but he refused to comment on it.

It had been a very sudden affair. He didn't even realize what had happened until he felt himself being inexplicably drawn forwards by some force he couldn't control. It took him quite a while to realize what it was, because if someone tried to tell the King of Hell he was falling in love, they wouldn't live to finish the sentence. He supposed, however, now they were probably right.

Didn't mean he would let anyone find out.

So, his love was hidden away in one of his private rooms in Hell, to be admired every day and stared at contently until he fell asleep at night.

For a demon, being in love wasn't so bad. He could feel himself becoming happier day-by-day, and struggled to keep his hate-filled, sarcastic, witty demeanour when dealing with idiots.

And dealing with those goddamn Winchesters – _that_ certainly didn't get any easier.

A good example was actually just the other day. He'd been in bed, quite comfortable. Hell was running in its usual swift and torturous way, and he was quite pleased with himself. He'd settled back with an old glass of whiskey, ready to stare at his love for another hour or so when the damn hunters called him again – no doubt just to mess with him on his good day.

He appeared in a flash to two _very_ ticked off hunters and one perpetually confused angel.

"Ah, the Winchesters," he sighed. "And Castiel, hardly a surprise. Called me just to ruin a good day, have you? Or trying to use me for information again, I suppose? No, wait – you're doing this because you enjoy my wonderful company and simply can't go another day without seeing my pretty face."

"Very funny, Crowley," Moose sneered. "You know _exactly_ why you're here."

He blinked slowly, taking another sip of his whiskey. "No, actually, I really don't. I have enough to do without adding 'Spying on the Winchesters' to my list of important jobs. That's handled by someone disposable, so if you kill them it doesn't impact my pecking order."

"Enough with the crap, you son of a bitch," said Squirrel, his voice lower and more… was he trying to be _threatening_? Oh, please. "You know exactly what you did, and you're gonna fix it right now."

"Oh, I suppose according to you two I've always done something wrong. What is it now? One of my demons giving you a hard time? I'll have to give them a raise."

"You have been preying on the humans around here," Castiel stated in his gravelly monotone. "We wish for you to stop and release them from their contracts."

Crowley almost snorted. He was lucky he had more class than that. "You want me to go back on _business deals_? It's like you don't know me at all! Those people sold their souls in formal contracts. They got what they wanted, and I got what I wanted. They're all going to die; now they're dying for something. Now, are you going to let me go now?"

"You little-"

"Oh, do shut up," he told them. "I was having quite a good day until you dragged me away from my- No. You know what? Let me go and I won't kill you. Do we have a deal?"

"You, kill us?" Squirrel snarled. "You're the one caught in a devil's trap! You're not going anywhere until you free those people from their contracts!"

Crowley supposed he should have argued. Fought against them. Told them to shove it where the sun doesn't shine. But, he was in love. He just wanted to get home.

So, in a very un-Crowley-like fashion, he sighed, snapped his fingers and stated, "Done. Can I go now?"

The Winchesters eyed him suspiciously. "What, just like that? No witty remark, no sarcasm? It's actually done?"

"Yes, you bloody idiot, it's done. Can I go now?"

They stood in shock for a minute, before Castiel waved his hand and the Devil's Trap vanished. He could see the brother's rounding on the angel, but instead of staying and watching the fight, he just _had_ to get back home. Back to where his love was waiting for him, delicate, beautiful, a ray of sunshine in the darkness. So he zapped away and landed back on his bed.

He smiled slightly; the movement of muscles on his face was so foreign he almost had trouble remembering exactly what muscles to _use_, and it probably turned up more like a twisted grimace, but at least he tried.

His hand crept forwards and in a brief moment of impulsiveness, he brushed his hand along his love's softness, bringing his fingers back away to inhale the gentle scent that lingered on them.

_Ah, yes_, he thought as he gazed upon the daffodil in wonder, _love truly is an amazing thing_.

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**A/N: This is one of the first ideas that popped into my head when I thought of this story. I have no idea why this particular one appealed to me; it just did, and I loved writing it for some bizarre reason. It might be because it's one in the morning, but hey, rest is for the weak, sleep is for the dead, right?**

**Anyway, I hope you like the chapter; send me suggestions of characters/objects! I'd love to hear from you all!**

**AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

**ALL THE COOKIES TO ALL OF YOU! Till next time :P**


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